Like Hell
by laurelnola
Summary: For everyone who wants a different ending for the Doctor and Clara. Companion piece to "Dinner at the End of the Universe"/ "Laws of Attraction". Spoilers for "Hell Bent"


**"Like Hell"**

For everyone who wants a different ending for the Doctor and Clara

12/Clara, hints of 11/Clara

T

Companion piece to "Dinner at the End of the Universe"/ "Laws of Attraction", spoilers for "Hell Bent"

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 **A/N: SPOILERS for "Hell Bent"! Please do not read if you haven't seen it!**

 **This little fic is my way of saying "Okay, but you know they really COULD have lived happily-ever-after." I sort of felt that after two and half solid seasons of incredible, epic romantic build-up, a little happiness for them, and for us, would have been most sincerely welcome. Since I already created a nice, happily-ever-after ending for them in "Dinner at the End of the Universe", this was a bridge from the finale that allows it to happen. Because they belong together. They do.**

 **Besides,** _ **he is the Doctor and he saves people**_ **. And the first person in that line? Clara Oswald.**

 **Dedicated to hopeless romantics everywhere (because I am a writer and I fix endings). ;-) Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"Did you really think she mattered so little to me that a piece of metal would make a difference?"

It's the first thing he says when he sees her, but not at all the first thing he thinks. He's parked the TARDIS far enough away from where he knows she is so that she won't hear the wheezing groan, won't jump back into her own ship and flee from him.

It hasn't even taken that long to find them. He knows Clara so well, knows where she'll take her TARDIS, even among the billion, billion points in time and space from which to choose.

She'd always had a soft spot for Marcus Aurelius.

Which is why when he spots Me, standing at the fountain near the Senate, her white robe draped around her childish figure, he knows that Clara is most likely inside, listening to her favorite (or second favorite, he thinks hopefully) orator. Me is standing idly, disinterested, obviously waiting for Clara, and the Doctor feels his hands ball into fists at the memory of what this reckless immortal almost cost him. Through his mind flashes every moment that he's spent caring for, protecting, and loving Clara Oswald, from the day she pulled him off of a cloud till the day he watched a ghost-bird fly into her chest and suck the life from her.

He pauses a moment more to think of what Clara's face must look like at this very moment, her eyes wide and round as she listens, her mouth slightly slack with awe, her hands clasped together in her lap.

Oh, yes, she still has a lifetime of moments like this, of amazing wonders, ahead of her. It's the reason he's come to take her home.

But he'd known all along she was never meant to die, not in a London alleyway. It was why he'd been able to face leaving her in the street where she'd dropped. It was why he hadn't dropped _himself_. He'd known that Clara's future still had further to go, he just hadn't yet known how he was going to get her there.

But four and a half billion years gives a man a lot of time to plan. And he'd worked out every detail: how to save her, how to get her where she needed to go, how to win, as she'd always expected him to do. He will not fail her now.

It's probably why, when he finally reaches the girl immortal, his voice becomes so soft it sounds like the rattle of a snake in the desert, the kind that might live near a Nevada diner.

"How many times must I say it, Me," he says slowly, as she whips around to face him, "that there's nothing I wouldn't do to save her."

When Me turns and sees him, her face changes from the implacable expression she almost always wears to a fleeting one of fear. And then the mask returns, tempered with a flicker of resignation, and the Doctor raises an eyebrow. She's caught on, after all, and he's almost impressed.

"You know why I'm here?" he says levelly.

"I assumed it wouldn't take long," she replies.

He nods, standing beside her as they lean against the edge of the fountain. "So you know that device on Gallifrey didn't erase my memory."

Me gives a small laugh. "You're a master of misdirection, Doctor. You always have been."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

She shrugs. "I suppose it's meant as one."

He watches as a young man and woman walk down the street, their fingers brushing against one another as though they are longing to hold hands in public, but are afraid to display their feelings to everyone. It hardly matters, he thinks. How they feel is obvious to anyone with two eyes.

"How did you figure out what it was?" he asks Me, who sighs and shrugs again.

"You spent four and a half billion years trying to get through a wall for Clara. You wouldn't have endured it if you didn't already know there was something on Gallifrey that could save her permanently."

He nods slowly, considering. "And my memories?"

But Me scoffs. "If your mind is capable of retaining billions of years of memories, it would take more than a chunk of metal to overcome that kind of power."

The Doctor feels his lips purse. "So I suppose the only other question is, do you know what that device actually did?"

And Me finally faces him. "Yes. You took the call of the Raven from Clara into yourself."

The Doctor's gaze is unsmiling. "And?"

Her own smile falters. "And the device transferred it, but you're just the carrier. It was promised a human soul, and so Clara's pulse won't start again until the Raven _gets_ a human soul."

His eyes pierce hers. "And?"

She looks away. "And mine is the human soul you're going to take in her place."

For the first time in eons, the Doctor thinks, she actually looks human, too. He'd thought all traces of her humanity had been worn away, but no, the fear of death was still there. She suddenly looks almost like the scared little girl he met so long ago. But then she turns to face him, and the warrior in her has returned.

"What the hell took you so long?" she tells him.

He feels the smile coming back.

* * *

The TARDIS lands softly, almost as if she's trying to be respectful of the events that are about to happen, and when the Doctor looks up, he sees Me sitting in his chair.

She's not leaning back, confidently, assuredly, the way she usually does. She's sitting cross-legged, the way a little girl might do, and he finds himself almost pitying her.

"We're here," he calls up, and she nods, coming down the steps.

"Thank you for taking me here," Me tells him as he opens the door for her, and follows her into the sunshine. She turns, the frowns. "Why so far away?"

"Didn't want to alarm them again," he says, and she shrugs once more.

They walk silently for a bit, side by side, Me's shorter legs having to take more steps to keep up with his long ones. She's looking around, trying to soak it all in, he knows. She wants to see it with old eyes, rather than new, and he does hope, for her sake, that she can.

"Doctor," she says, as they pass over a small stream. "Why did you tell her all of that?"

"All of what?" he asks, though he's fairly sure he knows.

"You told Clara that one of you had to go, that your willingness to do anything for her made you a danger to the universe."

The Doctor pauses, then sighs. "Yes, that's all true."

"But you made it sound as though you had to be apart because she brought out the worst in you, and we both know _that's_ not true," Me says, and the words cause him to close his eyes for a moment, as he tries not to remember how Clara's face had looked.

He doesn't want to think what Me already knows is true. _Of course_ Clara didn't bring out the worst in him. She'd been perfect for him from the very beginning. She was still perfect for him, giving him courage, making him find the strength to go on for four and a half billion years of torture, making him be the Doctor even when he was ready to give up. She'd done it over and over again. And while it had pained him to change her, even the slightest bit, to make her more like him, he'd had to do it so that one day, when she was living in front of a truth field, she'd be able to hold her tongue against spilling out the truth….

 _There are some truths that must never be told_.

She made him better, just by existing, breathing next to him. And now he was going to make sure that she _did_ keep breathing next to him.

"Clara will still have to leave," he says bluntly. "The Time Lords were right about that- her death is a fixed point."

"Then why…," she says, stopping and frowning again. Her eyes widen as she realizes. "Doctor, where is Clara buried?"

His face is like stone as he faces her. "Where she belongs," he says firmly. "Beside my grave."

Slowly, he sees Me smile again. He thinks with a pang that it's a shame she hasn't done it much in her very long life. Perhaps she's remembering how to smile, being back here.

"Did she have a happy life?"

His mind flashes with a thousand memories, of Clara, putting souffle batter on the edge of his nose and kissing it, of her slowly undoing his bow-tie and dropping it to the floor before her lips found his throat, of teaching her to skate on a frozen lake on Trenzalore, and of watching her live out her life with him, loved and cherished in every moment.

"We both did," he says, his voice betraying his own longing.

Me shakes her head. "You always win, don't you?" she says, her expression countered with something like admiration.

Now it's he who shrugs. "Not always. But when it matters very, very much," he says, pulling out the small device from Gallifrey, "I don't stop trying."

Me's eyes follow the piece of metal in his hand. "For what it's worth," she says slowly, "I think her life matters very much, too."

The sound of men coming back from a hunt reaches their ears, and, from the cover of the forest, the Doctor and Me both look up abruptly to see the Vikings marching back into the village. He looks over at Me, the lump of metal feeling warm in his hand.

"Do you want to go in for a bit? Say goodbye?" he asks her.

Me watches the villagers for a moment longer, then shakes her head. "I…I don't really remember them. I guess I was just hoping to."

"They'd remember you," he suggests.

But she shakes her head again. "That would just make it harder for them."

The Doctor smiles. "Perhaps you grew up, after all, Me."

Her eyes don't leave the villagers. "Ashildr," she says, finally looking up at him. "I'd like to be Ashildr again. She was the one who was supposed to die here, anyway."

She puts out her hand, palm open and waiting, and the Doctor slowly brings his hand, and the transfer device, to join with hers.

"Ashildr," he says gently. "Time to rest."

She smiles up at him, and he sees relief, pure and honest, in her eyes. Her long, long life is a burden no more, and for once, she is saving the world _for_ the Doctor, instead of from him. She is the hero he always hoped she would be.

She is still smiling when the Raven comes, and takes her home at last.

* * *

The Doctor doesn't mind the stares of the Romans as he walks towards the Senate. He might have looked more inconspicuous if he'd put on a toga, but right now the only thing he wants to wear is his purple jacket.

Clara had said she liked it. That was reason enough.

He'd timed his arrival to occur right after Clara would have felt the change. Maybe it had been a bit juvenile of him, but he rather wants to see her reaction. And after all, he'd spent several billion years being tragic. Indulging himself in a smile wasn't a huge ask. It's probably why he's whistling as he gets nearer to the Senate, and casually stands against the fountain once more, waiting.

She bursts out of the Senate, running down the steps. "Pulse!" she's shouting. "My pulse is back!"

Clara stops in her tracks when she sees that instead of a short, Viking woman, there's a tall, silver-haired Time Lord leaning against the fountain. The Doctor grins at her.

"Surprise," he says.

Her mouth hangs open as she moves slowly towards him.

"You," Clara breathes, as though she's afraid to believe it's true.

"Me," he agrees.

"Me?" she inquires, looking around for her lost companion and the Doctor gives her a half-smile.

"Home," he tells her, then adds, "Happy."

Clara frowns skeptically, and points at his head. "Memories?"

He shakes his head. "Never left."

Her eyes widen. "But… _how_?" she asks, and his smile finally escapes.

He shrugs with false modesty. "Doctor," he says.

And then, very slowly, he sees her smile begin to form. She turns around suddenly, lifting her hair to reveal her neck to him. "Tattoo?" she asks, then turns back, facing him.

His grin is so broad he's worried his own face might crack. "Gone," he whispers, then pops his fingers open to suggest it vanished like magic.

Clara reaches him, her face, her beautiful face inches from his. Her eyes search his, and he wants to scoop her up into his arms, and yell with joy.

 _I won, Clara. You told me to win, and I did it. For you. Always for you._

She swallows, as if afraid to ask the question, but the Doctor knows he will never fear again. Even though he knows now the time is coming soon for her to leave, to go back to his past and live out her life in a war-torn village named Christmas, when she'll finally know how much he loves her, he's no longer afraid of facing it.

He's won Clara, for her, for himself, for the man he was, is, and will always be.

Her large dark eyes brim with hope as she looks at him, and the sight nearly weakens his knees.

"Us?" she asks tentatively, and the Doctor takes her hand.

"What else?" he says, his smile growing wider. " _Together_."

It's then that Clara Oswald, the woman he loves, grins so brightly it hurts his eyes and heals his hearts all at once. She throws herself into his arms, and this time, he doesn't fight it. He picks her up and swings her around in the middle of ancient Rome, loving the sound of her laughter as he twirls her.

* * *

When he finally puts her down, what feels like ages later, she's brushing the hair from her eyes, her smile stretching from ear to ear, and he represses the urge to wipe a tendril of hair from her cheek.

"Well," she says eagerly, "now that that's all settled, why don't we get back to the…. Oh, my stars!"

"What's wrong?" the Doctor asks, frowning.

"What about the other TARDIS? The one I took from Gallifrey?" She asks, chewing her nail nervously.

The Doctor swallows. "Ah, well, about that…. I'm afraid _my_ TARDIS sent it back to Gallifrey. Telepathically."

Clara's eyes widen again. "Wait, the ships can communicate with each other?"

His eyes roll. "Well, of course they can. We're a telepathic species, which I've told you I don't know how many times, and you insist on forgetting." He's just realized he's in heaven, smiling and arguing with Clara once more, like they have all the time in the universe. To be without this, he knows from experience, is his own personal Hell. But he's already been there, and done that, so now's the time to enjoy watching her roll her eyes back at him, her tiny mouth scoffing as he remembers the taste of it.

"That's too bad," she sighs. "I was getting kind of used to having my own ship."

"Ah, yes, but did yours have seven squash courts?"

She raises her eyebrows and smiles. "No, it had a nude beach."

He shakes his head, trying not to laugh, as they reach his beloved blue ship.

"Hey, Sexy," Clara says, patting the TARDIS on the door frame. "I hear you got jealous and sent off the competition." The TARDIS whines at her, and when she reaches the controls, Clara presses a kiss to panel. "Only jokin'," she whispers, "Missed you, too."

But when she looks up and sees the Doctor, he notices her face change, the smile dimming. She moves closer to him, her eyes serious. "And you," she says slowly. "I need something from you."

He doesn't hesitate. "Anything."

She lets out a slow breath. "Don't ever hurt yourself like that for me again, do you hear?"

The Doctor sighs. "Clara…."

"No, shut up," she stops him, and he can see it in her face- her pain at the very idea of his, that he suffered because of her, endured the torture of his confession-dial prison for eons, just to save her. "I'm not immortal, and I never wanted to be."

"I know," he says softly, because he does.

"So when it's time to let me go, you just do it, alright? Promise me?"

He breathes slowly, remembering every pore on her lovely face.

 _Clara, one day you'll understand why,_ he thinks. _Why I would go to Hell and back for you, over and over. Why I love you the way I do._

And so he scoffs and shrugs. "Why would it be hard to let you go?" he asks, his eyes twinkling at her. "In fact, I might even pretend I don't know who you are, anymore, once you leave."

Clara's lovely smile creeps back. "Brave-heart Doctor."

His eyes grow soft, too, along with his voice. "If you want me to be."

But Clara Oswald has already taken his hand in hers, bringing it to her cheek, where she brushes his fingers against her skin. The sensation makes his hearts pound in his chest, but he controls it.

"So…" he says, trying to keep his voice even. "You, me, the TARDIS… I imagine you want to see something… what was it… something awesome?"

Clara looks up, her eyes shining, and for the first time in a very long time, she looks just like the girl who once laughed at him for trying to entice her to "jump in his snogbox".

"I already do," she says, her gaze holding his, and the Doctor's hearts speed up once more. He knows he has to control it. He must. It's only the beginning of the kind of control he'll need to have one day.

But as they pull the lever of the TARDIS together, whisking them away to places unknown, the Doctor only knows that Clara Oswald is beside him, for more precious days, hours, minutes.

It's worth the billions of years he spent to save her. It's worth every moment that's to come.

Right now, with the happiness coursing through his hearts as they whirl through time and space, he knows it's all that matters, in the whole, wide universe.

* * *

\- The End-


End file.
